


Prettied Up

by sabinelagrande



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Clothed Sex, Lingerie, M/M, Naked Male Clothed Male, Switching, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Top Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:33:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21752284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabinelagrande/pseuds/sabinelagrande
Summary: Aziraphale is a classic. Crowley is a bit more avant garde. This time it's with lingerie.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 294





	Prettied Up

Crowley goes first.

"You really don't have to if you don't want to," Aziraphale says, which both of them know he's saying to be polite, in the vein of "oh, I couldn't possibly have another biscuit, well, if you insist."

"I'm going first, and that's final," Crowley says, and Aziraphale looks unbothered by losing the argument.

"I, ah, already took the liberty of making my purchases," Aziraphale says, and from behind the couch he takes out a bag that has entirely too much tissue paper in it. The bag indicates its extreme level of chic, though the truly chic package their lingerie laid out in boxes, held closed with immaculate wide ribbons.

It's not important how Crowley knows that.

"I had to think mine up, so we're square," Crowley says, as he takes the bag.

"Well that's hardly in keeping," Aziraphale says, frowning.

"Oh, I have references," Crowley says. "Just needed to stick them together, and the color was all wrong." He puts the bag behind his back. "Unless you've decided not to go through with it."

"Let's not be too hasty," Aziraphale says. "When would you like to do it?"

"No time like the present," Crowley says, with a smile that is not so much a smile as showing his teeth.

Crowley saunters off, through his bedroom and into the bathroom, not looking behind him to see if Aziraphale has followed. He will have; that's something Crowley has never really been assured of, always feeling like he needs to call out or tell Aziraphale to follow, but when Aziraphale is being led by the libido, his behavior is much easier to predict.

In the bathroom, Crowley puts the bag on the vanity. There's just so much tissue paper, and he throws most of it over his shoulder, letting it litter the tile floor.

"Oh, of course," Crowley says, pulling the items from the bag. What Aziraphale has chosen is utterly tasteful. There's a basque, lacy and black, that cuts down to the waist in the front and barely comes to it in the back. It has a restrained amount of red trim, and when Crowley puts it on, he can actually be mistaken for someone with a curve to his name, the shape of it nipping his waist in. There are little shorts that match it, black lace things that would be quite conservative if they weren't cut out in the back. Naturally, there are stockings, seambacks with more lace that clip to the suspenders on the basque. It all goes together for one polished appearance; it is, indeed, a sexy appearance, but Crowley feels a different way about it, a fondness for Aziraphale's well-accustomed predictability. Crowley looks like one specific kind of fantasy that is so widely distributed as to be a cliche, but if Aziraphale wants to play it like this, Crowley is going to indulge him to the last.

Aziraphale has left him no shoes; Crowley rectifies this with heels high enough that he feels like he's towering. He'll certainly tower over Aziraphale, and that's what matters. He does a little twirl in the mirror, liking the effect of the whole thing. It has a kind of class to it that is all Aziraphale and nothing Crowley, a refined vintage feel, as Aziraphale so appreciates.

Crowley struts his way into the bedroom, ready to catch his prey. Aziraphale is sitting on the edge of the bed with his hands clasped in front of him, upright in the way that he gets when he's nervously anticipating something. He hasn't even taken his shoes off, and Crowley feels another rush of that fondness, which does funny things to his stomach.

Or that might be the basque. Hard to say.

"Mister Fell, I presume," Crowley drawls.

"My goodness," Aziraphale says, his eyes going wide.

"I hope this is what you wanted," Crowley says.

"Good lord," Aziraphale says.

"Come on, angel," Crowley says, and he walks right over, standing astride Aziraphale's thighs. "You've got to give me something to work with."

Aziraphale is not listening, daring to run his hands up Crowley's stockinged legs. He reaches the tops of them, and Crowley has no idea why the sudden brush of Aziraphale's fingers on his bare skin makes him bite his lip.

Crowley is going to have to steer this ship entirely, but nothing about that seems like a problem. He settles in Aziraphale's lap, and Aziraphale's hands find his waist immediately, running over the curve of it. His hands feel muted on Crowley's skin, but something about it feels good, Aziraphale not quite touching but promising to do it.

"Haven't done this in a long time," Crowley says, grinding himself against Aziraphale, who's already hard. "Like riding a bike."

"Right," Aziraphale says, but Crowley knows he's just filling spaces where words are expected of him.

"How do you want me?" Crowley murmurs. "Maybe I'll ride you just like this, take your cock just like I found it."

"That would be fine," Aziraphale says distantly, still feeling Crowley up, and he makes a noise of loss when Crowley stands, grabbing at Crowley's thighs.

"If you want me on your lap, you have to open your trousers," Crowley says sweetly.

That seems to kick Aziraphale into gear; he quickly unbuttons, pushing clothes out of the way until he's exposed, looking eager. "I'm sorry, dearest," Aziraphale says. "It's just that I was quite overwhelmed."

"Overwhelming, am I?" Crowley says, and he turns around, facing away from Aziraphale.

"Always," Aziraphale says, running his hand over the lace of his panties, his fingers avoiding the exposed part. Crowley still doesn't know why that feels so good, Aziraphale cut off by millimeters but still warm against him.

Aziraphale gets what Crowley wants, guiding him down by his hips, until Aziraphale's slick cock is poised at his entrance. Crowley sinks down onto it, the girth of it stretching him just right. Aziraphale's fingers trace Crowley's suspenders, pulled tight now with the way that Crowley's legs are spread, and Crowley grinds down against him, just enjoying it, Aziraphale shifting inside of him.

Aziraphale is too polite, or rather not desperate enough yet, to move things along. His hands slide over Crowley's thighs, whispering over Crowley's skin through the stockings, and suddenly Crowley is indeed desperate enough to move things along. He starts riding Aziraphale slowly to start, taking him deep, down to the bottom on every stroke.

Crowley feels Aziraphale's hands on the naked part of his inner thighs, and he gasps. They're not touching skin-to-skin anywhere else except where they're joined; all of Aziraphale's clothing is still between them. Crowley wants to demand that he take it off, but it feels so good, separate and together at the same time, a touch of unfamiliar, impersonal that is really doing it for Crowley.

"Tell me what you want," Crowley purrs; he came here with a target, but that's not how it feels at all. "Let me do it for you."

"Ride me harder," Aziraphale says shakily. His hands find Crowley's waist, thumbs brushing the exposed skin of his back, and Crowley speeds up, needing more, needing to please. Aziraphale's hands roam him, like he's exploring for the first time, and the feeling of fabric and skin is more than Crowley anticipated, almost more than he can deal with.

Crowley's cock is filling out the front of his panties, distending them, and he gives himself some relief, pulling them down just far enough to expose himself. Somehow it feels so much dirtier than being naked, and Crowley relishes it. That's how all of this feels, perverse and incendiary, and Crowley just wants to soak it in.

Crowley is getting closer and closer, stroking his cock as Aziraphale thrusts up to meet him, deep, hard thrusts. Aziraphale puts his face against Crowley's back, his forehead dappled with sweat where it touches Crowley's skin, and Crowley cries out at the sudden sensation, the point of connection that he wasn't expecting. It's just Aziraphale's face, and it feels so good, cutting through the artifice, reminding him that he is here with not just anyone, but Aziraphale, the extraordinary creature whom he loves.

Aziraphale groans, and Crowley knows he's instants away; he moves his hand faster, and then they're both right there, tipping over together. Aziraphale puts his arms around Crowley and pulls him closer, holding them together as the moment lingers.

Crowley sighs. "I like your style, angel."

"I had an excellent model," Aziraphale says, sounding pleased with himself.

"I've got one too," Crowley says, and he turns his head and kisses Aziraphale, before Aziraphale can get nervous and fall out of this space.

He kisses Aziraphale a lot, actually, but he takes off the basque, so it's not really relevant.

Crowley tries to wait Aziraphale out regarding his turn, but this, for obvious reasons, lasts for three days before Crowley is cajoling and coaxing and finally just shoves a box into Aziraphale's hands and shepherds him towards the bathroom.

"Crowley, I don't even know how to put this thing on," Aziraphale complains, behind the closed door.

"Don't give me that," Crowley says. "All you have to do is stick your feet in the right holes and buckle it on."

"As if the right holes were at all obvious," Aziraphale says. "And I distinctly see ties here."

"Oh yeah," Crowley says. "Do those up too. They go around your legs."

There is quiet grumbling from Aziraphale, but Crowley takes the opportunity to get in a good ogling position, which he figures is resting on his elbows with his feet on the floor. It seems just the right kind of decadent, like a rich mark waiting for a private show.

Aziraphale comes hesitantly out of the bathroom. Crowley gave him a robe, though it doesn't leave much to the imagination; he couldn't imagine dressing Aziraphale in the colors of Heaven or Hell, so it's a coppery brown. Aziraphale is currently worrying the tie holding it closed with his hands, wringing it and smoothing it out.

"I don't know if I can do this," Aziraphale says, and the look on his face almost makes Crowley call it all off. 

"You'll feel worse if you don't," Crowley says.

Aziraphale thinks for a moment. "While that's true, I don't appreciate it."

"Come on, Aziraphale," Crowley says, in the butchest voice he can muster. "Take your robe off for the lads."

"You are impossible," Aziraphale says, sighing. Still, he undoes the tie, and in one movement he lets the robe flutter to the floor.

Crowley makes a sound of pure lust so strong that people three flats over suddenly get a little flustered.

What he's chosen for Aziraphale is essentially a cage of gold straps, starting from a band around his neck and working downwards, criss-crossing his body. They outline his cock before running along the sides of his ass, leaving him fully exposed. Crowley is particularly taken by how the straps also run down his legs like roman sandals, all the way to his ankles, where they tie off above the gold flats Crowley has selected. All of it limns him so perfectly, highlights the perfect Aziraphale-ness of him.

"It's just so much," Aziraphale says, looking down at himself. "Honestly, Crowley, I can't imagine that this looks-"

Crowley grabs him by his straps, and Aziraphale cuts off with a gasp, not even having noticed Crowley approaching. He yanks Aziraphale forward, into a rough, possessive kiss that promises it won't be the last.

"Oh," Aziraphale says, blinking. "Do you like it?"

Crowley can't even find it in him to talk. The outfit looks just like Crowley hoped it would; the straps hide nothing at all, and that's exactly what Crowley wants to see, the whole glorious confection of Aziraphale, every bite.

Crowley kisses him again, and Aziraphale puts his arms around Crowley's neck, just taking it. Crowley lifts him by the thighs, hoisting Aziraphale up and carrying him to the bed. He throws Aziraphale onto it, taking just a moment to stare; Aziraphale's knee comes up, like he's surprised, like he's shy, and Crowley pushes it out of his way.

"Fuck," Crowley says, his voice raspy.

"Does it look good?" Aziraphale asks, and Crowley has a clear enough head to realize he never answered Aziraphale's question, just left him dangling, even though it would have been more than enough confirmation for Crowley.

"You look good enough to eat," Crowley says. "Fuck, angel, if I had my way you'd never wear anything else."

"That's a bit much," Aziraphale says.

"Aziraphale, dear?" Crowley says.

"Yes, love?" Aziraphale says.

Crowley falls forward onto him, pinning Aziraphale by his shoulders. "Stop thinking and let me fuck you."

"Oh my," Aziraphale says, as Crowley's clothes evaporate.

The embarrassment had visibly gotten to Aziraphale earlier, but now he's hard against Crowley's hip. In the space of a thought, they're both ready, because Crowley can't stand the idea of taking this slowly, of having Aziraphale underneath him and not driving into him. He wants to see Aziraphale doing everything in this outfit, but right now he wants to see Aziraphale gasping in pleasure, the straps tightening across his fair skin as he arches towards Crowley.

Aziraphale cries out as Crowley pushes inside of him, all the way home in one thrust. Crowley can't stop himself, can't moderate it, can't do anything but fuck into him, taking him hard and fast.

"Yes," Aziraphale gasps. "Darling, please-"

Crowley buries his face in Aziraphale's neck, running his tongue along the strap there, ignoring the taste of vinyl as he bites down on Aziraphale's skin. Aziraphale gasps, his head going back to give Crowley all the room he needs. Crowley wants to eat him alive; he had no idea it was going to be like this, but here they are, and he _needs_ Aziraphale, like he's not sure he's ever needed anything else.

Aziraphale is thrusting up against him, his cock rubbing against Crowley's stomach, and Crowley knows he's close. He wraps his hand around Aziraphale's cock, making just enough space between them that he can watch. Aziraphale is gasping, his inhalations reaching a higher pitch, and his breath stops entirely when it hits him. Crowley watches as his come arcs over the straps criss-crossing him, drops of white on the metallic surface. 

Crowley is suddenly so much closer than he thought, on the very edge of it, and he moves faster, his fingers hooked in Aziraphale's outfit. Aziraphale lets out a low moan, and that's it, Crowley loses it, he spends himself immediately, his body shaking as he comes.

Crowley comes back to himself with Aziraphale petting his hair, kissing his forehead as he murmurs sweet things. He still can't seem to move, but he finally flops over, laying down next to Aziraphale.

"Well, not to be too self-aggrandizing," Aziraphale says, "but this was more of a success than I expected."

"Hell's sake," Crowley says. "You look better than porn."

"A lot of things look better than porn," Aziraphale says.

"You look better than the platonic ideal of porn," Crowley says. "The ur-porn."

"Ur porn wasn't very good," Aziraphale says. "Mostly crude line drawings."

"That was the worst pun you've come up with all day," Crowley says.

"I didn't even know I was making one," Aziraphale says.

"That doesn't help your case," Crowley says. He rolls towards Aziraphale, running his fingers under one of the straps. "This might. Think of the range of motion. You could do anything you wanted wearing this."

"And you probably think I should," Aziraphale says, raising an eyebrow.

"Who wouldn't?" Crowley says.

Aziraphale looks down at himself. "It is lightweight. It might even fit under one's clothes."

"Ngk," Crowley says, as his brain suddenly locks up.

"I was not offering," Aziraphale says.

"What about a trade?" Crowley says, winding an arm around Aziraphale's waist. "Wouldn't you like to know I was going about my day in a basque and suspenders, just for you?"

"I, ah," Aziraphale says. He swallows, and Crowley knows he's got him. "I see your point."

"Think on it, angel," Crowley says magnanimously, and if his fingers follow the lines of Aziraphale's outfit, it can't be helped. He puts his hands behind his head. "But surely you could be induced to bring me a glass of water."

"You're awful," Aziraphale says, without much heat, but he does get out of bed, walking towards the kitchen. The view from behind is also exquisite, the straps holding his already nice ass up in a very pleasing way.

If Aziraphale doesn't think the two of them aren't going to wear this stuff completely out, he is mistaken.

**Author's Note:**

> For a visual on Aziraphale, like Crowley, I stuck some together: [this one](https://www.yandy.com/Lace-Up-Lover-Bra-Set.php) for the legs and something in the style of [this whole genre](https://www.yandy.com/Tempting-Garnet-Cage-Bra-Set.php) (links NSFW and your ad tracking WILL think you're a pervert). So something like that. I like to think it makes him look like Apollo.


End file.
